


a time of magic

by carissima



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Camelot, Gratuitous Merlin references, M/M, Merlin - Freeform, Sid is a terrible villain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-29 00:45:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13915770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carissima/pseuds/carissima
Summary: “There is a legend that has been whispered through the ages of a sword so powerful, so exquisitely forged, that rests encased in stone,” Nuge says, his voice low. “A sword that no ordinary man can pull from it’s resting place.”“Sounds useful,” Jack interjects.aka the merlin au you didn't ask for but i wrote it anyway





	a time of magic

**Author's Note:**

> a huge thanks to lor for not only giving me the idea to write this, but also for the beta and cheerleading.
> 
> this fic borrows heavily from merlin and arthurian legend, before swerving in a totally different direction. apologies to sid for making him the semi-villain in this.
> 
> there's only one ship here but i think if you squinted, you might see a tiny bit of dylan/mitch if you wanted to?

Connor smiles politely at the little girl peering at him from behind her mother’s skirts as he walks past, one hand on the hilt of his sword as he tries to shift it so the child can’t see. Not that it would probably fool her as he’s dressed in Camelot armour from head to toe and he’s flanked by four of his best knights.

“Don’t forget Lord Kesler,” he hears Jack say loudly. Connor winces and wishes he could forget her. “Connor said he was too aggressive.”

“In fairness, he wasn’t wrong,” Darnell points out. “He looked at Connor like he wanted to flatten him, not marry him.”

“It’s a common reaction,” Dylan says and Connor doesn’t need to have eyes in the back of his head to see Dylan’s smirk. “More than one lord and lady has tried to take a swing at His Highness after a few hours in his company.”

Connor can feel the back of his neck getting hot as his errant knights continue to list the many suitors he’s turned down over the past two years since he took the throne. He doesn’t think he’s particularly difficult to please, but the list of suitors has been, well, lacking. And there have been many.

So many.

“One day he’s going to insult the wrong princess and we’re going to end up fighting a war over Connor’s defective dick,” Jack mutters.

“King Sid did look particularly affronted that Connor didn’t fall down to his knees for Lord MacKinnon,” Darnell says, sounding thoughtful.

“King Sid is a reasonable man who has bigger things to worry about than my not marrying Lord Nathan,” Connor says through gritted teeth, although it’s all too easy to conjure up the memory of King Sid glaring daggers at Connor for the perceived insult to his oldest friend. Connor deliberately sets his sights on the blacksmith’s forge ahead and shoves the image aside. “I’ll marry one day, of course, but not until it’s right. I’m not marrying some poor soul for land or money. That’s like, the worst possible reason to get married.”

Thankfully they arrive at Mitch’s forge and Connor steps inside, welcoming the heat to mask his flushed cheeks.

“My Lord,” Mitch drawls slowly, not even bothering to do more than glance up at their arrival from where he’s hammering at a sword. Connor’s known Mitch long enough to expect anything else.

Dylan steps around him and grabs Mitch’s arm, hauling him up and slapping him on the back cheerfully.

“Hey, be careful with this arm,” Mitch complains, rubbing his elbow harder than Connor thinks is strictly necessary. “I’m the only blacksmith in town, asshole. If you injure me, who will make your kickass weapons to defend Camelot against Connor’s rejected suitors?”

Jack snickers from somewhere behind him. Connor just sighs and rubs his hand over his eyes. He can feel a headache coming.

“Speaking of,” Dylan says, his arm slung casually around Mitch’s shoulders, “the princess left this morning.”

Mitch’s gaze zeroes in on Connor, and he tries not to shuffle his feet self-consciously. He’s the king, dammit.

“Let me guess,” Mitch says, deceptively mild. “She wore the wrong colour dress. The entire court knows that Connor prefers Camelot red, or that god awful orange. Or did she curtsy the wrong way?”

“Those are terrible reasons to reject a person,” Connor says defensively, crossing his arms awkwardly across his chest. He only came in here to escape his gossiping knights and check on their weapon stocks, just in case. He doesn’t really think Sid or any of the other suitors he’s turned down would storm the city walls, but bolstering their reserves can’t hurt.

“Yes, Connor, they are,” Mitch says flatly. Connor catches him exchanging a look with Dylan before he turns back to Connor, an oddly disappointed look crossing his face. “You’ve turned down suitors for less. You’re gonna end up an old maid at this rate. Left on the shelf. Alone. Ghosting around in that big old castle all by your lonesome.”

“Shut up!” Connor hisses at him, his body tense as Mitch’s words echo in his head. He doesn’t need his worst fears being vocalised by Mitch the blacksmith and broadcast to his knights, he doesn’t care how long he’s known Mitch.

“Oh sure, I’ll be quiet, my liege,” Mitch says, rolling his eyes. “How many times has that worked in the past 20 years or so?”

“Just once would have been nice,” Dylan says sweetly.

Connor wonders if it would be reasonable to banish his two oldest friends to the furthest region in his lands. “I’m the king,” Connor says firmly. “You should mind your manners when addressing me.”

Mitch stares at him for a moment before he bursts into laughter. Connor can see Dylan hiding a grin behind his gloved hand too.

“Sure bud,” Mitch says, one hand on his side like he’s in pain. Connor meanly hopes he is, the asshole.

“My Lord?”

Connor turns to look at Leon, who’s been mostly quiet on their morning patrol.

“Yes, Sir Leon?”

“Perhaps I should take the blacksmith to the stocks,” Leon suggests dryly.

The thought of Mitch in stocks improves Connor’s mood almost instantly.

“Uh, I’d like to see you try, big guy,” Mitch says, all cocky swagger as he leans his elbow on Dylan’s shoulder.

Except Dylan shifts away, leaving Mitch flailing for a moment until he finds his balance. Leon takes a step towards him with easy grace and quiet menace.

“Wait, no, I’m kidding!” Mitch says quickly, keeping his eyes on Leon as he blindly punches at Dylan, catching his shoulder and wincing as his bare hand meets armour. “Fuck, ouch!”

“Serves you right,” Connor says cheerfully.

*

Connor doesn’t enjoy council meetings on the whole. He’d much rather delegate them to someone else, but despite his best efforts, he’s still required to attend them. Mostly they’re full of tedious information that he forgets as soon as it’s been relayed, daydreaming instead about riding in the forest or sneaking away for an illicit nap in the middle of the day.

Today’s briefing, though, leaves him feeling restless. He heads for the training ground and works out until he’s flushed with sweat, his hair plastered to his head and his muscles straining from overuse.

He throws his sword to the ground and flops down onto the cool grass, head tipped back and eyes closed.

“Something on your mind, my Lord?”

Connor exhales slowly, opening one eye to find Leon casting a shadow over him where he stands.

“Sit, you’re blocking my sun,” Connor gestures next to him. When Leon’s settled, Connor takes a deep breath. “Messengers have arrived with news of King Sid. They say he’s on his way to Camelot with enough men to take the city.”

“These reports, you believe them?” Leon asks.

“I would be foolish to ignore them,” Connor allows. Leon’s twirling a blade of grass between his forefinger and thumb, and Connor just watches him for a few moments, weighing up his words. “We need food and water for the people. The armoury is full but we may need more.”

“We have plenty, my Lord,” Leon says and Connor relaxes just a little. “Do not worry, my Lord. You are a good king, you’ll find a way to reason with King Sid.”

Leon hands him the blade of grass, twisted into a pretty pattern that he doesn’t recognise. He runs his thumb carefully over the braid. He’s never really doubted himself, as a son, a knight, a fighter or as a king, yet it’s still nice to hear that someone as good and brave and strong as Leon has complete faith in him.

“Not everyone in Camelot believes that,” Connor says without rancour. He’s wise enough to know that not everyone likes the way he rules Camelot, and there are many who would challenge him, given half the chance.

“Well, I do,” Leon says simply. He’s staring out into the distance before them, radiating confidence and ease with every subtle move of his body. Connor envies him that ease. It doesn’t come as naturally to Connor, no matter what he does. “All your knights believe in you, Connor. That’s why they fight for you. Anyone with half a brain in Camelot knows that you’re the best King they could wish for. Don’t doubt yourself, my Lord. Your instincts are good and true. They serve you and the kingdom well.”

Connor flushes and turns his head so that he can pretend that Leon doesn’t notice. “You are too trusting, Sir Leon.”

“Maybe,” Leon allows with a small grin, getting to his feet and offering a hand to help Connor up. Connor slides his hand around Leon’s wrist and hauls himself up, letting go to dust off his pants. “You could learn a thing or two from me, my Lord.”

Connor laughs as they make their way back to the castle. “I definitely could, Leon. I could probably learn a lot.”

Connor leaves Leon at the castle gates to head down to Nuge’s quarters. He knocks, as he’s learned the hard way that he should never enter a wizard’s space without some warning.

“Yes?” comes a frazzled voice.

Connor opens the door just a crack and pokes his head around to find Nuge standing in the middle of chaos, his face smokey and his dark hair standing on end.

“It’s going well then, I see,” Connor says straight-faced.

Nuge shakes his head, which causes a lot of dark smoke to lift from his robes, making Connor cough as he steps inside. “Slight setback,” he says cheerfully, reaching up to scrub his hair free of dust. “Nothing to worry about, Connor. Everything is exactly as it should be.”

Connor looks around the room sceptically. Admittedly, Nuge’s office, such as it is, isn’t the most tidy and well ordered room that Connor’s ever seen, but he’s never seen it this bad. Books are strewn across the floor, there’s a dancing broomstick over by the window dusting the same spot over and over again and Nuge is standing in the middle of the room with a look of pure serenity on his face.

“Crosby’s men are advancing on the city,” Connor tells him bluntly. “His wizard is strong, Nuge. I’ve heard tales of his magic.”

Nuge grins wildly. “His magic is foreign and pretty, sure. But he’s not my match, your Highness.”

Connor steps over a few books and places his hand on Nuge’s shoulder. “You’re a good wizard, Nuge, the best I’ve ever known.” Leon’s words come back to him, unbidden. “I trust you,” he says solemnly, watching as Nuge’s eyes go wide with surprise. “I know you’ll keep Camelot safe.”

Nuge blinks at him a few times but Connor keeps his gaze steady.

“So no pressure then,” Nuge finally says, letting out a long breath.

Connor grins and leaves him to his potions.

*

Dinner is a subdued affair, with muted conversations and barely a goblet of wine drunk. Connor cuts the evening short, to everyone’s relief. He’s on edge, he can see his men are too and all he wants right now is to crawl into bed and sleep the night away.

Connor’s the last one out of the banquet hall, his knights merrily shoving at each other in front of him when he hears it.

The warning bell.

“We’re under attack,” he yells as his men simultaneously spin around, swords drawn and all traces of merriment gone. Jack circles behind him, Leon in front and Dylan sticks to his side like glue.

“They’ve stormed the gates,” Darnell says flatly from where he’s standing by the window, listening to the cries below. His hand is resting on the hilt of his sword and he looks casual, only the rhythmic tapping of his finger against his steel blade betraying the tension inside. “He’s almost here.”

“How many?” Connor asks calmly.

Darnell yells something out the window and pauses for the reply. When he turns back, Connor can see frustration etched into his expression. “We’re outnumbered,” he simply says.

Connor draws his sword and nods. “Alright. Let them come.”

“My Lord.” Leon’s hand comes to rest on his arm. “We have to leave. We cannot win here, now.”

“No,” Connor says flatly. He’s not leaving like some coward in the night, leaving his castle and people alone. If King Sid wants to take his kingdom, then Connor will make him fight for it. “Camelot is mine. Hell, it’s ours. Camelot is ours and no one is taking it from us.”

A hand plants itself squarely on Connor’s back and he’s being pushed forward, stumbling as he tries not to impale himself on his sword. It’s a close miss. “What the hell was that?”

“Me, your Highness,” Jack says from behind him. “You’re welcome.”

Connor looks up and sees two arrows embedded in the wall, right about where he’d been standing moments before. “Thanks,” he murmurs.

“Always said you were a fool of a king,” Jack drawls. Connor looks up to find Jack staring at him, his face blank. “Can’t help anyone if you’re dead.”

“I’d hate to be thought a fool,” Connor says, turning back to look at the arrows.

“Come on then,” Dylan says, pulling him away and breaking into a run that they all follow. Dylan weaves them in and through passageways, twisting and turning until even Connor isn’t entirely sure where they are. He can hear the shouts of Sid’s men and the cries of his people as they clash, but he grits his teeth and carries on. They run until they burst through an old, solid door and Connor can see the forest ahead. It’s dark enough to cover them, but Connor keeps one eye on the castle as they head for the trees. Then it’s Darnell’s turn to lead, winding through the thicket until he stops in the middle of a clearing that’s clearly well used.

Connor thrusts his sword into the ground with all frustration and anger he feels, sinking down beside it as he tries to catch his breath. His city isn’t his city anymore.

He feels bereft.

“We’ll get it back, Con,” Dylan says fiercely. He’s the least out of breath of all of them, standing tall beside him.

“Camelot is still yours,” Darnell adds. “Sid can sit on your throne but it doesn’t make the kingdom his.”

Connor doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t want to think about whether Mitch is okay or if he’s getting into trouble with his damn mouth. He doesn’t want to worry about Nuge escaping in time.

Except it’s all he can think about.

Leon drops an armful of sticks and leafs down in front of him and throws a flint at Jack, who starts working on a fire. Leon drops down onto his haunches in front of Connor. “It’s ours,” he says quietly before standing up and disappearing to find more firewood.

All Connor can do is watch as his men work, stoking the fire and drawing plans in the ground with sticks and stones as markers. He can’t make himself stand up and join them, instead wrapping his cloak around himself, shoulders slumped and arms wrapped around his knees.

He watches his men settle down for the night, each of them giving him plenty of space and distance, yet circled around him anyway.

Leon appears next to him, making Connor startle. “You move so quietly,” Connor complains in a hushed whisper, rubbing at his cold arms under his cloak. “You should get some sleep.”

“Not tired.” Leon settles himself next to Connor, pressing into Connor’s side where he can feel Leon’s warmth. Connor sighs and shifts a little closer.

“You’re a loyal friend, Leon,” he murmurs, his gaze roving over his sleeping knights. Dylan’s snoring loud enough to attract any of Sid’s men in a five mile radius, Jack is hugging a craggy-looking rock and Darnell is sprawled out, taking up enough room for three men. “A loyal knight to Camelot. You all are.”

“I swore an oath to Camelot,” Leon reminds him, sounding amused. “I swore an oath to you, my Lord. I intend to keep it until my last breath.”

Connor stares into the dying embers of the fire, feeling warmed through. He smothers a yawn, grins at Leon’s pointed look and settles himself down for the night, suddenly exhausted. His gaze finds Leon in the dark, and neither of them look away. Eventually Connor closes his eyes and lets sleep claim him.

*

Connor’s talking to Darnell and Jack when they hear the crack of twigs behind them. Swords drawn, they spin round to find themselves face to face with Nuge. He’s dishevelled and missing his eyebrows and doesn’t appear to even notice them, muttering under his breath about something. Connor catches a few words - stone, sword, magic, dragons - before he turns back to his men and continues to discuss their options to reclaim his castle.

“If you’d just married Sid’s best buddy, none of this would be happening, you know.”

Connor turns to find Mitch standing at the edge of the clearing, hands on his hips and looking utterly judgemental.

Connor’s never been so happy to see the asshole.

“Mitch,” Connor breathes, striding over to pull him into a hug. Mitch allows it, and even hugs him back, before he pulls back and smacks Connor around the back of the head.

“Asshole king,” Mitch mutters before Dylan pulls him away with rapid fire questions about how he escaped and what happened in the citadel, while his hands run over Mitch’s body like he’s checking for injuries.

“Your friend is a charmer,” Leon says dryly.

“He’s an asshole,” Connor counters. “But he’s here, and he’s well.”

“Look,” Jack says from where he’s taken a seat by the fire. His boots are off and he’s got the worst case of bedhead that Connor’s ever seen. “If you don’t want to get your dick wet and Sid wants to be a gigantic baby about it, then we’ll fight him and all his men,” he says with a smirk and thrusts his sword into the ground.

Connor opens his mouth to argue, before closing it again and sighing.

“Your Highness,” Nuge says, appearing at Connor’s side and giving him an excuse to remove himself from this entire embarrassing conversation. “I need to speak with you. Walk with me?”

“Sure,” Connor says.

“No,” Darnell says flatly. He’s got his arms crossed over his chest and his usual cheer is completely gone.

“You’re not going anywhere alone,” Dylan calls from where he’s sitting with Mitch, both of them looking disapproving of all of Connor’s life choices.

“I’m the best swordsman in the kingdom,” Connor reminds them.

Jack scoffs.

“Yeah, but you’re also prone to wandering into weird shit,” Darnell says. “The troll you almost married?”

“I did not almost marry her,” Connor says, offended.

“The manticore,” Darnell continues, unperturbed and clearly warming up to his ridiculous theme. “The lamia. Pixies. The fucking goblin, Connor.”

“Okay, none of those were my fault,” Connor says firmly.

“Doesn’t matter,” Dylan says. “You’re not going anywhere without us.”

Nuge makes an impatient noise. “Fine, your nosy knights can listen. But I need to tell you the tale of the sword in the stone.”

“This is hardly the time for fairy tales, wizard,” Mitch says.

Nuge levels him with a look that has Mitch throwing up his hands in mock surrender.

“There is a legend that has been whispered through the ages of a sword so powerful, so exquisitely forged, that rests encased in stone,” Nuge says, his voice low. “A sword that no ordinary man can pull from it’s resting place.”

“Sounds useful,” Jack interjects.

“Only the rightful king of Camelot can wield this sword,” Nuge says without missing a beat, even when Jack yelps and springs to his feet, rubbing his ass and glaring at the wizard. Connor just about manages to hide his laughter.

“So why hasn’t a king of Camelot pulled this sword already then?” Darnell asks.

“Because many have sat on the throne of Camelot,” Nuge says smoothly, his eyes drifting towards Connor. “But the once and future king is here.”

“Huh?” Mitch looks about as confused as Connor feels.

“The sword has been waiting for Connor,” Nuge tells them with a roll his eyes. “No other king could pull the stone, regardless of their claim to the throne.”

“Hey, what’s so special about Connor?” Dylan asks, winking at him.

“Everything,” Nuge says simply.

Connor waits for his knights and Mitch to start laughing, to tease him over the ridiculousness of Nuge’s prophecy, but it never comes. He looks around, but they’re all staring at him like they can see something that he’s blinded to.

“I’ve never heard of this tale,” Connor murmurs. He’s certain he would have heard of such a legend, particularly one that involves his family.

“Follow me,” Nuge says.

He leads them through the forest, going deeper and deeper through the trees until he stops and turns his face eastwards. Connor follows his gaze and his breath catches. Before him, there’s a glade, bathed in sunlight. And in the very center, a sword sits, half-buried in rock.

“Holy shit,” Leon breathes.

Connor moves towards the sword, circling the stone but not daring to reach out and touch. Nuge was right, the sword is exquisite, almost ethereal as it reflects the sunlight.

“Sir Darnell, perhaps you could attempt to remove the sword,” Nuge suggests, which brings Connor’s head up.

“I thought you said I was the only one who could remove it,” Connor says slowly.

Nuge just smiles at him, which looks weird when he’s missing his eyebrows. “Darnell?”

“Get ready to kneel for the real king, boys,” Darnell says, winking at Connor as he steps up to the stone. He wraps a hand around the hilt and takes a breath before he starts to pull.

The sword doesn’t budge.

Darnell pulls again, using both hands this time, but the sword remains locked in stone.

Jack goes next, full of swagger but the sword doesn’t move for him either and he gives up, red and sweaty and swordless.

Dylan steps up next, rolling his eyes at Mitch’s loud cheering, and he half-heartedly gives it a go. “I’d make a shitty king anyway,” he says with a shrug and returns to Mitch’s side with an elbow to Mitch’s belly that makes him grunt.

“Sir Leon?” Nuge prompts when Leon makes no move towards the sword.

“There’s only one king,” Leon says, looking at Connor.

Connor draws in a shaky breath and takes a step towards the stone followed by another, until he’s standing in front of the stone and he can feel the warmth glinting from the blade. He closes his hand over the hilt and takes another breath. The sword feels solid in his hand. He pulls and the sword doesn’t yield.

His pulse hammering in his chest, Connor resettles himself, feet planted wide, and -.

The sword slides out of the rock in one smooth, easy motion to his amazement and disbelief.

“Wow,” someone murmurs behind him. He thinks Mitch, maybe.

He looks up and finds his knights kneeling before him. Jack’s grinning, Darnell is nodding, Dylan looks delighted and Leon is staring at him steadily, his expression blank but his eyes ablaze.

“Let’s get our city back,” Connor says with a grin.

“Okay, but first let me look at that sword, dude,” Mitch says, making grabby hands at it. Connor’s reluctant to let the sword leave his hands, but Mitch doesn’t seem to care, his hands stroking the blade as Connor holds it. He murmurs something under his breath and it takes Connor a few minutes to realise that he’s whispering sweet nothings to the sword.

“You’re so weird, bro,” Darnell says, shaking his head.

“Shh,” Mitch says and Connor swears he’s going cuddle the sword until Jack yanks him away.

Connor catches Leon staring at the sword. “Do you want a moment alone with it too?” he asks wryly.

“No, I’m good,” Leon tells him. “It’s beautiful workmanship though. You carry it well, my Lord.”

Connor feels a swell of emotion in his belly that he’s unwilling to identify, so he busies himself with studying his new blade until the sky grows dark and fatigue overwhelms him.

*

Connor wakes up just before daybreak, his hand automatically reaching for his new sword. He relaxes when he feels the heavy weight of it next to him and rolls onto his belly, yawning. The rest of the camp is stirring and Connor finds himself staring a little too long and hard as Leon sits up, rubbing his eyes sleepily and stretching out his well-muscled arms. He looks away quickly and gets to his feet, sheathing his sword with care.

No one talks much as they move towards the castle. They separate as planned and Connor sweeps through the gates with Dylan and Leon by his side. They take Sid’s men by surprise and Connor makes short work of passing through and frees his own men, leaving them to fight as he rushes through the castle, looking for his usurper.

He comes to a stop though when he finds not Sid, but Malkin, standing firm at the door to the Great Hall.

“I always liked you, young King,” Malkin says somewhat sadly, shaking his head even as he raises his hand. Connor draws his sword but he’s knocked backwards with a loud pop, crashing into a warm body as he falls to the floor.

*

Connor wakes up disoriented and dizzy. He opens his eyes and sees Nuge before him, duelling with Malkin. Neither of them are paying any attention to Connor so he sits up, rubbing at his temple when he realises that there’s someone else on the floor with him.

His heart stops when he sees Leon sprawled out, his eyes closed and a bruise already forming under his left eye.

“Leon?” Connor grabs his shoulders and shakes him, frantic. His heart won’t stop pounding and all he can do is repeat Leon’s name over and over with increased desperation.

Eventually, after what feels like hours, Leon slowly opens his eyes. Connor drags in a ragged breath and sits back, his hands shaking and his head spinning.

“Come on, my Lord,” Leon says, his voice roughened. Connor watches him get to his feet in relief and hold out his hand for Connor to take. This time, he slides his hand into Leon’s and links their fingers together tightly, letting Leon haul him up with easy strength. “We can’t sit around all day.”

Connor doesn’t laugh - he’s not quite there yet, with Leon’s unconscious body still forefront in his mind - but he turns towards the Great Hall with steely determination. He can hear Leon’s footsteps as he heads back towards the fighting and Connor freezes.

He spins around and reaches for Leon, one hand on his shoulder to turn him back towards Connor. He stares at Leon for a moment, maybe two, before he steps in and kisses him. It’s over almost before it’s begun, fleeting and small and yet so, so big all at once.

Connor steps back and Leon just blinks at him, his tongue flicking out to lick his lips. Connor watches - well, stares really, before he takes another step back.

“I just didn’t want to have never done that,” he says quietly before he turns away from where Leon is still staring at him and races into the Great Hall.

Sid’s standing by his throne, nose wrinkled.

“My throne isn’t to your taste?” Connor asks, slowing to a stop a few feet away.

“I like mine better,” Sid admits with a smile. He’s shorter than Connor by a few inches but he’s solid, his shoulders wide and his body radiating strength. Connor would rather not fight him, all things considered.

“You could just go back?” Connor suggests somewhat hopefully.

Sid looks thoughtful. “Nathan is pretty mad at me. He likes you a lot, even if you did turn him down.”

“I didn’t turn him down, he turned me down,” Connor says, watching Sid carefully. “He’s in love and it’s not with me.”

Sid raises his eyebrows and he looks vaguely poleaxed. “He is? Did he say that?”

“He implied it,” Connor admits. When Sid looks a little sceptical, he quickly adds, “heavily implied. Really heavily implied.”

“Right,” Sid murmurs. “I suppose I should go back home then and make my peace with him. I don’t suppose you know where my wizard is?”

There’s a telltale scent of chilli powder and iron in the air that Connor recognises. “I think he’s comparing flying spells with my wizard.”

“Geno can never quite get that one right.” Sid shakes his head, a smile threatening to break through his gruffness. “Alright, young King. I’m sorry I invaded. Camelot is nice, but I like home better. I hope this doesn’t hinder any treaties we might make in the future.”

Connor watches Sid amble out of the Hall, thoroughly bemused but undeniably happy to see him go.

He’s lost in thought until Darnell, Jack and Dylan come skidding in with their swords brandished, looking battle-worn and hot for more.

“Sid’s men are leaving, your Highness,” Dylan says, looking around as if expecting to find Sid hiding under a table or perhaps behind Connor’s throne.

“Yes,” Connor says, perching on the arm of his throne. His father is probably rolling in his grave at the lack of respect. “It turns out that King Sid was labouring under a false assumption. We’ve cleared the air and he’s making his way back to his lands with his men.”

“A false assumption,” Darnell says flatly. “Sure.”

“You’re all fools,” Jack mutters. “A misunderstanding my ass.”

“So it’s over, just like that?” Dylan asks sceptically.

Connor lifts his shoulder in a half-shrug. “I guess?”

“You are too trusting, my Lord,” Leon calls from the doorway. He’s lounging against the frame, looking casual and handsome enough that Connor has to look away to control his suddenly erratic heartbeat. “Perhaps we should escort his Highness King Sid to the border. Just in case.”

Connor watches his knights leave together, laughing and teasing each other with the ease that comes after the battle has been won. Connor slumps down into his throne, one leg thrown over the arm and figures he’ll just wait here until they’re back. In a few hours. Or maybe tomorrow.

*

It’s almost dusk when Connor finds Leon in his room, the door half-open. Leon’s mid-yawn when he looks up and finds Connor hanging around nervously by the door and he frowns. “You coming in?”

“Uh, sure,” Connor says, feeling a little guilty when he sees how tired Leon looks. He moves into the room, closing the door behind him because he doesn’t need any other witnesses to his pending humiliation.

Leon finishes stripping off his armour while Connor searches around for the right words to say, but they all disappear when Leon tugs his shirt off, leaving Connor staring at his broad, bare back. There’s marks and bruises from today’s battle, but there’s older scars, mapping all the times he’s put his body on the line for Connor. He aches to reach out and touch, maybe soothe any aches Leon carries, but he turns his head away with a pained swallow.

“I’m sorry about before,” Connor says, staring at the wall. “The kiss, I mean. I shouldn’t have.”

“The timing wasn’t ideal,” Leon says mildly behind him.

Connor turns around at that but Leon’s rummaging around in his drawers, not looking at him at all. “No,” Connor firmly because he’s the fucking king. He can do this. “But I shouldn't have kissed you. I’m your king and it wasn’t appropriate and it won’t happen again.”

Leon hums thoughtfully and carefully places the clean shirt he’s pulled out on the bed. Connor really wishes he’d hurry up and put it on so he doesn’t have to deal with so much, well, _so much_. Leon shirtless is really a work of art and Connor needs him to cover up right the fuck now.  
.  
“Are my eyes the wrong colour?” Leon asks, tilting his head as he looks at Connor. “Is my beard too long?”

“What?” Connor’s puzzled. Leon’s eyes are beautiful and his beard is perfect. Not that he’s going to blurt that out if he can help it, but he can’t promise anything. “Of course not.”

“I have no wealth,” Leon says, even more confusingly. “No lands to offer. I am just a knight, after all.”

“The best knight in Camelot,” Connor says automatically.

Leon smiles. “My Lord. You are an idiot.”

“What?”

“Jack is right. You’re a fool.”

“Hey!”

“Do you suppose I don’t want to be kissed by you?” Leon asks, low. He takes a step closer and Connor can’t breathe. “Do you think I don’t want you?”

Connor opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

Leon takes another step forward. “My Lord, I spend every night laying in my bed, wishing you were here with me. Or that I were with you. You are my king, and I will gladly follow you into death. But I would much rather live, here with you, by your side.”

Leon moves into Connor’s space, close enough that Connor has to tip his head to look at him. Leon’s eyes burn like fire. “Connor.”

Connor’s eyes widen.

And Leon kisses him, hard and fierce, dragging him back towards Leon’s bed and tumbling them backwards.

“I’m your king,” Connor says as Leon’s eager hands start undressing him. He helpfully lifts his hips up so Leon can strip him more easily.

“You are, and always will be,” Leon agrees, presses a wet kiss to Connor’s hip, grinning when Connor groans. “Tell me, Connor,” and that elicits another moan from Connor, unbidden, “why haven’t you accepted any proposals?”

Connor flushes, heat spreading through his body as he reaches for Leon and pulls him up so they’re eye-to-eye, Leon’s body covering his. It’s pretty obvious how aroused Leon is with the way he’s slowly undulating against Connor, making both of them gasp as heat shoots through him. It gives him the confidence to say, “I think you know why,” which is followed by an embarrassingly strangled, high-pitched noise as Leon ducks his head to nip at the curve of Connor’s neck before he sucks hard enough to bruise. Connor shifts to give him more room, his hands gripping Leon’s hips and almost seeing stars as they rub off on each other.

Connor would be embarrassed about how fast he comes except Leon’s right there with him, turning his face towards Connor to kiss him through it, panting into each others mouths as they make a huge fucking mess all over each other.

Leon collapses on top of him, breathing hard as Connor strokes his back, until he drifts off to sleep.

He wakes up to find Leon’s mouth on his dick, gasping as he tries not to fuck his hips upwards in desperation. “Leon,” he groans, his hands reaching down to tangle in Leon’s already-fucked hair.

He returns the favour afterwards, almost coming for a third time when Leon says his name over and over like a chant like some kind of Pavlovian instinct.

They wake up way past dawn, the sounds of the castle drifting up through Leon’s window. Connor buries his head under a pillow, refusing to wake up until Leon’s hand ghosts over his hip.

“Morning, my Lord,” Leon murmurs, grinning when Connor finally lifts the pillow and looks up at him. Connor runs his thumb over the bruise under Leon’s eye, reaching up to kiss the corner of his mouth when he winces.

“I thought it was Connor now,” Connor teases, hooking his arms around Leon’s neck and tugging him down for a proper good morning kiss, morning breath and all.

“Connor,” Leon murmurs between kisses. “My Lord.”

Eventually, Connor pulls away and sits up. “We should dress,” he says reluctantly, his gaze locked on Leon’s bare chest. “We have a lot to do today.”

“We do?” Leon asks, yawning.

“We have an engagement to announce,” Connor says, climbing out of bed and reaching for his clothes. “There’s tournaments to arrange and invitations to send and other stuff that I can’t remember but it’s protocol?”

Connor finishes getting dressed and is about to pull on his boots when he realises that Leon’s been very silent. Turning, he finds Leon staring at him in bewilderment.

“Engagement?” Leon asks.

“Oh.” Connor’s eyes go wide and fuck, he thought- well, he should have known better. He was so close to getting everything that he’d ever wanted and no, of course Leon’s not committing a lifetime to him. “I- yeah. No. Of course. Sorry, I thought? But of course you’re not. I should go, um, bathe.”

He shoves his boots on and he’s halfway across the room, his humiliation complete, when Leon grabs his arm.

“Leon,” Connor starts.

“Connor,” Leon interrupts. He’s completely unashamedly naked, with the evidence of Connor all over his body. “An engagement usually comes after a proposal.”

Connor exhales a thousand worries in one breath and lets out a shaky laugh. “Oh.”

“After last night, you still thought I didn’t want you?” Leon chides gently, folding Connor against his body. “Connor. We’re - let me court you, okay?”

“Okay?” Connor says, trying not to sound as disappointed as he feels. It doesn’t feel like enough, not with Leon.

“And after say, a week or so, you could try that proposal,” Leon continues easily. “After I’ve sent for my family to come meet you, for instance. And I don’t know about you, but I think I want a short engagement. Maybe another week for tournaments and all that protocol you mentioned.”

Connor tumbles a surprised Leon back onto the bed and kisses the laughter out of his mouth. He’s going to marry Leon in two weeks, maybe three, and right now, he wants to make his boyfriend-soon-to-be-fiance-soon-to-be-husband come so hard that he screams Connor’s name.

Then he’s got a proposal to plan.


End file.
